In the midst of fellow bloggers’ many comments on the BA strike, one caught my eye in particular. Someone advised us ‘It’s the market’. The truth of this statement is blindingly obvious, but its use in such an unqualified way suggested that the writer believed the statement to be sufficient explanation: it isn’t.

The ‘market’ is not some natural phenomenon like the tide or wind, but a result of political decision. What we call ‘globalisation’ is a modern creation in which Britain’s political class is complicit, irrespective of party. It is the result of an economic philosophy consciously adopted and shared by leaders from all the developed countries. In its adoption, those leaders made a simple choice, to favour cheap consumption over secure employment. They set capital footloose, free to seek the cheapest, least protected labour on the planet, so abandoning workers in their own countries, and the safeguards on safe working, healthy working environments, and civilised treatment of employees that had been achieved through the efforts of many over a couple of centuries.

That is the downside of the choice, which must be offset against the advantages, lower prices for a whole range of products. If you choose to buy things produced in Asia by cheap labour, that is entirely your affair, but don’t complain when it comes the turn of your job to disappear overseas. Businesses still in Britain are increasingly undercut by those that left.

The broader effect on society is, and was, entirely predictable however. I wrote fifteen years ago of the likely consequences for employment, at a time when the Institute of Personnel Management (now the CIPD), and such academics as Carey Cooper, were advising employers of the necessity to ‘empower’ their workers. My argument was that there are three types of employee; the ‘core’ worker whose skills and knowledge are of strategic importance to the company; those who are not of strategic value, but whose skills are rare and therefore worth retaining, even if by outsourcing; and there are the ‘peripheral’ workers, those with relatively low skills and low cost effectiveness.

The peripheral workers, the largest of the three groups in the UK, are the inevitable losers in the process. They will have increasing difficulty in finding work, those who succeed will see downward pressure on wages and conditions, and those who fail will depend on benefit payments. The social and political consequences of these pressures have yet to be worked out, but life could get very nasty. The process is socially divisive, to say the least. The French reckon that 45% of job losses over recent years are down to globalisation. To expect people en masse to accept that kind of development calmly is unrealistic.

‘Things are not looking so hot for Nicolas Sarkozy, the Frog Prince, just at the present. There he is, poor midget, his marital problems compounded by growing political unpopularity.’

Such sentences at the beginning of a blog bring a variety of responses from different people, some find them funny, others protest and yet others, like me, simply read no further. I would not have returned to the thread concerned, or commented, had I not seen some of the ensuing exchanges on the comments page. There, I found Brendano, who had objected presumably, being lectured from on high on the role and ubiquity of wit. In weighty didactic tone he was accused of lacking humour, apparently because he was not amused by the above sentences.

For the sake of balance, I too wish to remark on the role and nature of wit. If I look at Noel Coward, Oscar Wilde, or even Kinnock or Hague, I find wit that enlightens and enlivens, having a novelty value that gives a twist to the familiar so that one never again sees it in quite the same light. Such people do not make remarks that appear plagiarised from a lavatory wall.

Whether Brendano has a sense of humour I know not, but I do know that some who seek a cheap laugh could benefit from reflection: pun intended.

I see that England plans to start building a high-speed rail line in 2017, linking Birmingham to London. I wonder how late the construction will be, and how much over budget. If they want a high-speed rail link perhaps they should follow India’s example and hire the SNCF (French Railways) to design and build it.

Ironically, Indian Railways used to turn to Britain for technical help, and staff training, when British Rail existed. Since BR’s passing they would not know who to approach in Britain, so, like others, they are turning to the French.

When sports commentators refer to literature or history to illustrate their point, they can leave one puzzled. Today, the BBC commentator on the France v Italy rugby match drew attention to the relatively small size of a French player, Marc Andreu, who weighs only 12 stone and stands 5ft 5inches. Having reminded us that rugby is a game for big men, the commentator expressed pleasure at seeing there is ‘still room in the game for Gulliver’. Pardon? Would that be Swift’s Gulliver, or Harry Gulliver from the Dog and Duck?

The snake oil salesmen who hijacked my party: After 25 years as an MP, Peter Kilfoyle hits out at hypocrisy of New Labour

Yesterday’s newspaper carried an interview with the French author of a book that advises readers to cast off their chains, to free the individual. It reminded me of the flood of such books that crossed the Atlantic in the seventies, to be consumed eagerly by practitioners in the ‘human resource development’ industry. Remember ‘transactional analysis‘, anyone, that offshoot of psychoanalysis and the dream-child of Eric Burne, Thomas Harris and others, that urged us to ‘get out of our child’? That was the age of psychobabble, the apotheosis of the ‘free will’ whereby the individual had untrammelled choice.

Though based on a philosophical myth, it never really went away. Many still cling to the notion of ’free will’, a concept of value to various churches, and attractive to individuals who like to feel in charge of their lives. The myth survives because of what is seen as the alternative, that we are captives of circumstance. That position arises because we tend to polarise our thinking, believing that If we are not completely free, we must be captives. However, life is not a choice between A or B, but between A or Z with a whole alphabet in between.

In truth, we are conditioned by two forces, genetics and experience. Both place boundaries around our choices in life, so we are not ’free’ to do anything we wish, but we are not denied choice entirely on specific options.

Reluctance to recognise that the notion of ‘free will’ is a myth stems in part from the problem of justifying punishment for certain behaviours, if the perpetrator was not freely choosing. This is a clear example of polarised thought. Recognition of genetic and experiential conditioning does not mean that the person had no choice on specifics. Therefore, society is right to punish behaviour that a consensus sees as socially damaging or undesirable, thereby adding a third influence on individual choice, that of deterrence through fear of retribution.

I see that a judge has banned the BNP from recruiting any new members because he believes the party is likely to discriminate against non-whites. The law must be upheld, so can we now expect to see various Black Police Officers’ Associations, and the Black TUC dragged before the courts? Don’t hold your breath.

Using Google’s street view facility I visited Newton Heath today, taking a virtual meander through streets in which I spent my childhood. I have not been back there physically since the late sixties, and then only briefly.

I wandered with very mixed feelings along Old Church Street, which I remember as a thriving thoroughfare with busy shops of all kinds on both sides. There was a wet-fish shop, a tripe shop, a pork-butchers (Charcuterie) and much more, all trading well. There were two cinemas, and several pubs. Now, it is home to various shabby shops, many bearing ‘to let’ signs. Most look uncared for. The cinema site is occupied by a large Liddle store, the only smart looking shop in the street. There is an air of poverty, of a run down backwater. The pub I used as a young man has disappeared, as has so much else.

Newton Heath was always a district occupied in the main by the manual working-class, mostly living in terraced houses, many of them rented. Those terraces are still there, in part, though many have been replaced by modern properties at the cheaper end of the market. I came away pleased that I had lived there in the forties and fifties, rather than now. The visit emphasised for me how a world I once knew, an England I once knew, has largely vanished

Judge tells Chinese defendant to learn English A judge has been criticised for telling a Chinese defendant to learn English.

This has apparently caused outrage in the local Chinese ‘community’, but I believe the judge had every right to make the remark. Only in England do the authorities bend over backwards on language, printing everything in several, and hiring interpreters and translators.

My French is shamefully poor, but if I ever have to face a French court all papers and proceedings would be in French, and getting a translator would be my problem, at my expence, and rightly so.

I recently had reason to consider turning points in my life, momentous incidents or situations that changed my life for evermore. Two are memorable, for me, one for changing my position in life, and the second for creating psychological change.

In 1961 I left the pits, having worked underground for six years, and took a job on Stockport Corporation as a bus conductor, later to become a driver. While there, I became active in the Transport & General Workers’ Union and agreed to represent the union on the General Management Committee of the local Labour Party. I began to study the union movement through correspondence courses, and because of that I borrowed a book on the T&G from the municipal library. That book contained a chapter on the T&GWU’s education programme in which there was mention, and a photograph, of RuskinCollege, in Oxford. I had never heard of the place, but wasted no time in applying for one of the union’s scholarships. That was the first of my two turning points, in 1964.

The second incident happened during my first term at Oxford. The college followed the Oxford tutorial system, whereby students are paired to spend an hour every week with an assigned tutor. The students write an essay every week, one is handed in at the tutorial for later marking, while the other student reads his effort aloud, to be criticised on the spot. I had chosen to read politics that first term, confident that I knew it all. So confident was I that I volunteered to be the one to read his essay. The question to address was on the nature of democracy, and I polished off my effort in double quick time, not bothering to read the recommended texts, and eager to impress the tutor. I have never been torn apart so effectively since. A wonderful tutor called Paul Brodetsky pointed out at length that I had written nothing more than several pages of prejudiced, unfounded rubbish. The psychological impact of that ‘feedback’ left me a wreck in the short-term, but Paul did me a big favour long-term.